Was it my words?
Me describing all the things I want to do to push your delicate little body to the brink, and then past?
Was it your touch?
You unable to resist putting your hand down your own pants as you read the unfiltered passion directed at your princess parts?
Was it my voice?
My deep voice, telling you to touch yourself, for Daddy, and to drive those fingers inside you? Then taste them?
What was it? Why?
Why are you so damn wet?